the approach of summer rain, the scout, the sentry comes first, the breeze, testing the landscape or warning same like a sliding war drum, the beat of the maelstrom to come, there is palpable anticipation, clouds racing to get away, or ahead, I can not tell which, as I do not speak to them, at least not yet, the distant rumble, lurking there, hiding somewhere off in the not so distance, not sure of the direction- but close, even the street lights seem quiet and hunkered down, and me? I have a love for thunderstorms- perhaps more than I should, the first drops are now on this page as I write, soon I will be forced back inside, but- until then, a sharp flash, the first real one of the night, lights up the entire yard, the drops come closer together now, and then the call and response, yes, the low rumble of ready thunder, as if snarling on the next block, the only natural sound now, above the breeze, is the hum of crickets, and then the drops start to ping on the metal railing by my front door, the wind does not come in waves now, a steady-steady beat if one, a second flash and he growl is sooner and longer- more immediate, closer, and the drops are nearly becoming rain, I can hear the heard approaching, marching, now the wind stands up grown – gusting, last warning, many storms are fair in this manner, a flash again, and now the voice shakes the ground under me, what sounds like an approaching car is actually the tract of wind carrying rain down, moving up the street, in full breech, there are barely any breaks in the racing clouds now, one more giant flash followed by a ten second slow rolling rumble, my lesser trees bend and dance, that is all it can do my precious bamboo, for there is no standing up to this, but rather bend and pray to make it through, am I being teased? this wait? the anticipation, will this just flit on by in the other lane?… Well, no there goes that thought, here it comes -the rain, and there I go, to watch from a window now.
Month: August 2023
float…
I often dream of having the psychic ability to float, or detach from gravity with my mind, the sensation seems- as real as falling, as we have all had that dream to then wake in fright, not having mover more than an inch, I wonder what the underlying root is for all this, for there has to be some impetus, especially in mass consciousness, yet we remain quite tethered to this spinning disc, gravity, not gravity boots like in stories or movies, if only we could uncouple from laces and roam freely, what is this desire? I do not think this is an urge to fly likey a bird… but perhaps, from a common ancestor, when our hair was wings, or nails as feathers, could that ancient memory still be a story in a book of our DNA library? float… but then of course comes the other fear… besides falling, of floating off into nowhere, of course logical rationale is not concerned in dreaming realm, well, at least not for me, surely we could not just float out past the various stages of atmosphere into space where nothingness reigns, well, at least the nothingness that would deprive us of life in a very short instance, thus revealing our fragility, no matter how hardy, from the frailest among us, to the strongest that ever was, neither David nor Goliath would stand a chance in that space of space, we were not designed for such a place, just here, terra firma, good old Earth, how many billions of years in the soup to get this mix, how cosmic a recipe for us just to exist, but yet, we seem to want more- at times, not all the time, but we have dreams- and mine is to float, above the ground, to feel untehtered but yet safe, perhaps orbiting a star, maybe our dreams are a conduit? into the very soft conciousness of the planet -herself?
so… what are your dreams? what do they tell you? pay attention… they are real… because, what separates that from reality? really? your mind has created things, so they are… created, how do you think books are written? or screen plays? a mind devises and births them into existence… so why not… gather in the fields of dreams… ?
the flag of land.
the flag of land- I can only imagine a voyage on the sea, when the maps had no end just rumor and conjecture, months of sway, the up and down, the only landscape that changes would be the clouds and the sun herself-
the flag of land- the source of all hope and all despair, the romance initially, the salty air, the detachment from the doldrums and table crumbs of polite society, but this is this own civil entity indeed, another womb that can breed all things, depending on what shall inhabit said room and ruminate there, I can imagine that even the largest vessel, ship, at some point becomes finite and closing in, mutiny must start in the individual mind before infecting the hive at large, but we may never know the true circumstance, we can only glance at what the the probable cause and effects were in such a situation, just as many years from now, perhaps centuries, others of us will wonder how we used these, words typed by keys, instead of just pure thoughts free flowing out, so what is our voyage of discovery? what flag of land do we seek out in this vast sea?
I often pine for the pirate life, well, at least the romantic notion of it, or at least sea faring… but the reality is so much further from the fantasy…my common comforts, well, back then, not so common… and how much would it take to push a modern man… mad?
Shades of My Garden 